


I do not think I will ever return again, my friend

by Naiah (sudolison)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcoholism, Bulges and Nooks, Cultural Differences, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Immigration, M/M, Mature Alpha Trolls, Pailing, Quadrant Confusion, Resisting Change, Troll Physiology, Unconventional Relationship, Xenophobia, as far as conventional quadrant relationships go, this is basically an amalgamation of every headcanon ive ever thought or absorbed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:38:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sudolison/pseuds/Naiah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, your first really consequential mistake, the one that set in motion this horrific chain of events that'd led to you hiding in the cramped space underneath your bed attempting to drink vodka directly out of the bottle while lying on your back, the one that really turned your life down a dead-end street, had been breaking your stupid vow.<br/>Were she here to see the state you're in now, that stupid oliveblood from the culling center would probably be cackling, her voice still repugnant and galling after all these years, that she was right about you mutants and nothing good can come of your participation in the quadrant system and blah blah blah you hate her grating words always scraping at the walls of your subconscious and in your lost thoughts you upend the bottle and accidentally pour vodka all over your face and down your throat and you are choking and your eyes are burning and-<br/>This is what has become of Kankri Vantas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I do not think I will ever return again, my friend

The sun on Earth is much cooler than the one on Beforus, you reflect; its light is actually near-pleasant, soft and warm against your skin despite the chill in the crisp autumn air. The street in front of your family-owned restaurant is devoid of beings of any sort, being that it's early morning on a Sunday. In just a few hours, though, you know it will be teeming with customers. You don't get much time to spend not working, so you really treasure the while you'll get to spend with your family before you have to open up. 

Your neighbor (and best slash worst friend) Porrim Maryam is outside her boutique across the street, sweeping the sidewalk in front of the door. She catches your eye and gives you a half-hearted wave, which leads you to believe she is still peeved about your previous argu- er, conversation. Not particularly excited at the prospect of having to apologize to her, you wave back and retreat into your residence.

The restaurant, located underneath the two rooms that constitute your living space, always looks strange to you when it isn't open; it seems too empty, like it needs something else. You frown. Maybe later, you'll see if you can put some more décor up to make it look livelier. Perhaps you can go by the Leijon's store later and get some Beforan-styled decorations. It would also be nice to talk to Meulin; after all, it's been quite a while since you last chatted with her.

Wincing when the third step creaks loudly, you go upstairs into the living block. Karkat is still asleep on the couch, covered by a thin cotton blanket. You think perhaps he's finding it difficult to adjust to the diurnal lifestyle of the humans, a struggle you empathize with all too much. The transition from Alternian to Earth time is quite difficult, especially for young wrigglers.  It will probably take him a while yet to get used to being awake during daylight hours. Your matesprit, at least, is awake; you can hear that the shower in the ablution block is running, no doubt wasting all your hot water. A quick glance around the living block confirms something you suspected would inevitably happen; much to your dread, the living space is disorganized and cluttered. Probably Karkat's mess. You'll have to make sure to have a talk with him later about leaving his belongings all over the place.

Suppressing a sigh, you tiptoe into the respite block, slowly close the door behind you, and open the old, dilapidated wardrobe containing your clothes. You select a fairly-new yellow sweater (knitted by Porrim), seeing as how it's getting a bit chilly and you are always cold anyway. You're just taking off the sweatshirt you'd slept in when your matesprit exits the ablution block.

"You look better in red."

You turn your head towards him slightly and tsk. "Cronus, I hope you realize that I am dressing, not to impress you or anyone else for that matter, but for myself. It's a matter of opinion what color I should wear and it's not up to you. Honestly, I can't believe you'd think it appropriate to criticize my personal fashion choices and, by extent, attempt to influence my decisions or control my autonomy, which could be offensive and/or triggering to me, which of course it could be since you aren't considerate enough to ever ever ask for someone's triggers, not to mention that you never bother to tag anything." You pause for a moment. "Also, my red sweaters are both in the wash."

Closing the wardrobe and turning around, you find yourself caught between the furniture and an unfairly-tall seadweller. You flush just slightly when you remember he's wearing only a towel around his waist, and flush more and drop the sweater when he puts his arms on either side of you, effectively trapping you against the doors. Well, not really; you could totally duck under his arms if you wanted, but you don't think you want to. You can smell the strong scent of his Old Spice shampoo, and his hair is damp and without product and hanging in his face a little. Without thinking, you reach up and push it back behind his ear, and then (thinking this time) run your fingers through his hair. Cronus is very handsome, and, you think, a nice contrast to yourself. Where you are soft and curved and, well, round, Cronus is angles and the sharpness of cut-and-polished diamond or maybe broken glass. It's a mystery to you why he finds you appealing in the slightest, but you know he does or else he wouldn't be softly kissing your neck and pressing you up against the wardrobe like that.

"Careful," you manage when he moves down to nip lightly at your collarbone; even though you don't particularly care if he breaks the skin, it would be quite embarrassing if he left a visible mark. The pressure of his leg in between your thighs is not unpleasant, and neither is the way he comes back up to peck your lips once, chastely, before he begins to kiss you. It's still sort of strange to you after all these sweeps, the way he makes out with you with such fervor. 

It takes a few seconds of him sucking gently on your bottom lip for you to realize what he's trying to do, but as soon as you are aware you part your lips slightly to let Cronus's tongue slip into your mouth. He tastes the same as always, like cigarettes and mint, and just slightly like your own blood. Which means he broke the skin. Darn it.

You can feel cold hands creeping up your chest, coming to a rest just below the swell of your rumble spheres. To your eternal embarrassment, you moan pathetically into his mouth when his fingers travel a bit upward and rub your nipples kind of roughly. The gasp you make when he rolls them once quickly between thumb and forefinger is so strong that it causes you to break the kiss, leaving you two connected by a thin string of saliva.

Cronus chuckles, deep in his chest, and it sends little sparks of desire through you to rest in your abdomen. 

"Eager today, babe?"

"Mhhm," you manage, and let out an incoherent noise when he lifts his knee so that it presses harder onto the crotch of your leggings. You're pretty sure he gets off on teasing and having you beg for him. Well, more power to him; you can't deny you like it as well. Playing along, you grind softly against his leg and hum quietly into the crook of his shoulder. _My leggings are going to get messy,_ you think distantly. (There's a small noise from the ablution block, but you think nothing of it.) For a minute, all of your world is right there- his strong body and calloused fingers, his leg supporting you and the quickly increasing pleasure in your nook and abdomen, and you think to yourself how much you'd like him to go down on you now-

And then Cronus hisses a curse word under his breath, and pulls away, and you are left cold and wanting. You whine.

"Sorry, babe," he says, looking back at you for a second before returning his gaze to out the doorway into the living block. "Not happening right now. Karkat's awake."

You churr unhappy, and Cronus shuts the door and goes to the dresser containing his clothes. He takes out a pair of violet underwear and a faded, distressed pair of jeans.

"This always happens," you complain, pulling your sweater over your head. "Can I not have one thing I want?"

Cronus snorts. "What are you talking about, Kan? I’m literally right here."

"I was talking about the sex, not you."

"Aww, Kan. You're hurting my feelings." He swoons dramatically when he says it, so you know he's joking. You like that about him, that he knows you good enough to recognize things you won't interpret as sarcasm and that he knows what he can do to let you know he's just kidding. At least in that respect he's very considerate to you.

Finishing getting dressed, you walk over to the mirror and frown.

"You messed up my hair."

Cronus walks up behind you and puts his arms around you, burying his face in your hair.

"You messed up my hair too, but you don't see me complaining."

His hair does look mussed-up, but his is still wet and therefore easier to comb out, a fact you relay to him in not nearly so few words while he continues to hug you, rocking slightly and not paying any attention to what you're saying.

"-and of course you also use all manner of unnatural products, some of which I am certain contain some sort of detanglers, while I use none and can only remedy this by brushing it, so, again, I cannot see why you would possibly complain, or compare these two situations to each other. Apples and oranges, Cronus. Are you even listening?" you add, attempting to glare at him but ultimately failing to get any sort of reaction.

"Of course I am, kitten."

You push your elbows backwards, causing him to move away from you a little bit and quite effectively breaking both the hug and his stupid innocent expression. Now he just looks wounded.

"All this rejection, babe. You're breaking my heart."

You don't even have to look at him to judge whether he's joking or not on that one. "Put a shirt on," you advise him. "And if I may suggest one, as you did to me regarding my sweater choice earlier, and provided it isn't offensive to you, I think you should wear the white one with the lines on it today."

"What, so you're allowed to tell me what to do, but I can't tell you?" Cronus grumbles, rifling through the closet.

"Exactly." You notice with distaste that the sleeping platform hasn't been made, and pull the comforter up to hide the tangle of sheets. You can make it later.

"What if I don't wanna wear that particular shirt today?" he pouts, shooting you a look over his shoulder.

"Wear it."

He pulls the shirt off the hanger and groans as he pulls it over his head. "How come I always listen to you?" he questions, his voice muffled by the fabric.

"Because I'm always right," you remind him, sitting down on the edge of the semi-made sleeping platform facing him.

Cronus flops down rather unceremoniously onto the platform beside you. "Lies. You're wrong sometimes."

Your hands find each other, and you lift the back of his to your cheek. He's so much colder than you, his skin like icicles, and his skin has a slightly lighter, lavender hue.

"When have I ever been wrong?"

He laughs. "You just called the symbol on this shirt 'lines'."

"So? I'm sure we can both agree that they're lines. Albeit zigzagged lines. I'm still right."

"They aren't lines, Kan. It's a zodiac symbol. Pretty sure I’ve told you a thousand times."

You drop his hand and get up from the platform. "Same thing," you complain as you walk over to the closet. Which he, of course, neglected to close after selecting his shirt. Er, after you selected his shirt for him. Ugh, you have to do everything around here.

Cronus groans, and behind you you hear the sounds of him rolling over onto his stomach. "Why'd you get up, Kan? Now I'm lonely."

"I have to put on my shoes," you inform him, shoving your foot into your very fashionable, definitely not tacky knee-high red boots. "I'm going to the corner market to pick up some groceries, and go by the Leijon's on my way home. Also, please do not comment on my attire," you add, sensing what he's going to say next. "I am of the belief that these colors match well enough for me to go out in public wearing them, and I don't need your (likely harsh and rude) criticism because I am not changing my mind."

Cronus sighs exaggeratedly, a gesture you find to be completely unnecessary. "I wasn't gonna say anything, kitten. I think it's an interesting choice-"

"Hmm. Of course you weren't. Well, I do apologize for assuming things that are clearly untrue."

 You finish lacing up both your boots and stand up, cracking the vertebrae in your back as you do so. Ouch, your shoulder muscles are sore. Actually, you kind of wonder about that, considering you haven't been doing any strenuous activity recently. Oh well, you can just have Cronus give you a backrub later.

Perhaps you can let it progress into something more... risqué. Massages always get you going in the right direction- must be all the intimacy involved with your matesprit knowing exactly where to knead the soreness and pain from your muscles, and always choosing the perfect amount of pressure for it to be pleasant. Also, his hands being all over you definitely help.

Just as you turn around, your boots both completely laced, a small, ill-tempered whirlwind knocks the door wide open and stomps to the ablution block. 

Of course, you are the first one to attempt to intiate friendly and respectable conversation. 

"Good morning, Karkat. You remember our talk last week, I presume? About how it's imperative that you control your anger, esp-"

"Can someone in this shithole please tell me why the everpitying fuck anyone would ever want to be awake during the day? It's bad enough I gotta live in this stupid tiny excuse for a hive, but now I have to also, against every fucking thing my schoolfeeding spewed at me all these years, force myself to go outside while the sun's up?" Karkat scowls darkly and slams the door to the ablution block so hard the noise makes you jump. You're starting to bristle a little bit; you have told him time and time again not to use such obscene language, it's inappropriate and, you are fairly certain, cause for some to look down on both you and Cronus as his lusui, or parents, or whatever you'd be called here.

"And how come the only bulgeshitting thing I was taught that's even remotely come in use at all was, like, basic, basic, basic English? Who the fuck thought that was a good idea?”

His voice, thankfully, trails off after that, and just a moment later you hear the hiss of the shower starting to run.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you turn to Cronus. He looks amused, which you find to be a completely inappropriate emotion for the situation.

"Where exactly did he get such a colorful vocabulary?" Cronus says, and actually chuckles. Godsdamn him. It's probably his fault, anyway, because you know that even though he rarely curses around you, he probably does around Karkat. Ugh.

Making an about-face to head for the stairs so you can leave, you call back over your shoulder, "I'll leave it alone for now, but tell him when he gets out that that's no way to speak to either of his pa... parents." The foreign word slips off your tounge strangely, the soft edges that the troll language lacks getting mangled into hard points like those present in your native tongue. Oh dear, you think, and feel a hot flash of shame at how badly you messed it up. You always make the s noises sound like t's, and the soft h sounds you can't even really say. Probably, you should practice more around home, or maybe later today.

You say goodbye and go downstairs and outside.

* * *

The street outside is just beginning to swell with the first wave of morning shoppers, although it's only nine o'clock. The sun's already made a good start on its gradual traverse across the sky; as its rays have grown in strength, the morning chill has almost completely dissipated to give way to a comfortable, gentle warmth that feels wonderful on your skin and nothing like what Karkat had earlier asserted to be "burn-me-to-a-fucking-crisp hot". The crowd of morning shoppers consists mostly of the non-churchgoing humans and a few of the trolls who've managed to adjust to the new diurnal lifestyle. A couple of humans pass you, and you don't miss the dirty look the older male gives you as he clips your shoulder slightly with his. Though you decide to just ignore it _(it was probably a simple mistake there is no need to instigate anything Kankri leave it alone_ ), you can't help but hear his blond female matesprit snicker about how he needs to wash up, she's heard they carry all sorts of extraterrestrial diseases, gross!

You grit your teeth and speed up a little, though you itch to turn around and confront them. _If you think trolls are all dirty and violent and, and beneath you, why on Beforus would you still shop in the section with all the troll shops?_ you'd love to ask them _. What do you think gives you the right to disrespect us, and then appropriate our culture and decorate your houses with "trinkets" that have actual significance on our planets?_

You could go on and on about the injustices suffered by your species here on Earth, but more important, you believe, is your shopping, and your arrival at the corner market interrupts your train of thought.

The harsh fluorescent lights are very difficult on your eyes, so you try to make the trip last as short as possible: you just stock up on various spices for the restaurant, as well as frozen hoofbeast meat and fresh fish. As you get in the rather short line to check out, some human lady shoves herself roughly in front of you. Ooh, this is not a wrongdoing you are prepared to just accept. She's got a lot more stuff than you do, and you want to get home as fast as possible so you can prepare for opening! 

You summon up a bit of courage, and tap her on the shoulder lightly with one dull claw. "Excuse me, ma'am," you start in your very best (but still heavily accented) English, "I am sure that you just did not notice, but you skip me. In the line. I was in front of you."

The human is looking at you like she finds you disgusting, like you are barkbeast excrement on the bottom of her shoe. She is of the usual kind who believe they are above interacting with trolls in situations other than purchasing from them: middle-aged, getting gray in the roots of her hair, and (you presume) living in the suburban areas. Her hand goes to her shoulder, the one you touched her on, and brushes over it a couple of times as if to knock dirt off.

_Oh, please,_ you think irritably, _it's not like I'm unclean. If anything, it's likely I'm much more sanitary than you are._

The woman's mouth twists into a weird shape before she replies to you in a thin voice, laced with disgust and assumed superiority. "Don't touch me. Fucking greyskin."

She adds the last part under her breath after turning back around, and upon hearing it your heart swells with outrage. "Excuse me?!" you exclaim incredulously, voice high and eyes wide with disbelief that she'd say that to you. And she's the one in the wrong!

She just ignores you and continues standing straight ahead. It's inconceivable to you, the audacity with which she's disrespecting you.

_Injustice,_ snarls the wilder part of your brain, _cannot be suffered, Kankri. Yell at her._ The urge is near overwhelming. You want so much to tear her haughty demeanor apart with merely your words.

But in the back of your mind, the oliveblood at the Beforan culling center is reminding you to _control yourself. Don't be angry over things you can't change._

You take in a shuddering breath and hold your tongue.

The lady is saved from any of your further wrath because she realizes she forgot an item and leaves the line, allowing you to take your rightful and deserved place. You should feel vindicated; after all, technically you are the winner here!

You don't, though, and on the way home (you decide to forgo an excursion to the Leijons' for today, seeing as you're always there for the better part of the day when you visit) you feel sick, like you should have done something you didn't. You're musing about whether or not you can still go back and educate that human on the history of greyskin as a slur and the harmfulness of its use when you realize the streets are infested with many more trolls and humans than when you left. As you have never been a fan of crowds and all the body contact that they generally entail, you are quite relieved when you reach your dominion. There are a few people up at the door reading the hours of business, and still more on the streets are pausing to view the large sign above the storefront reading "Ampora Authentic Beforan Cuisine". (When you and Cronus named it, you decided that the last three words would be necessary to draw more customers.) You excuse yourself to the few shoppers in your way, and they stand aside as you stoop to get your key from the inside of your boot, unlock the door, and step inside, making certain to lock it behind you. One time you accidentally left it unlocked and some curious humans walked in on your family (plus Nepeta and Equius, your two hired employees) having lunch, which hadn't been pleasant for reasons you do not wish to go into.

You can hear something going on in the kitchen, and the lights are on, so you assume that preparations have already started. Those suspicions are confirmed upon the injection of a loud, cutesy voice calling to you.

"Hey Mr. Vanthiss! We're back here!"

You walk into the kitchen to find two six-sweep-olds and a five-sweep-old taking inventory for you. The sight of them together is strangely comforting to you; you guess it's just nice to remember that Karkat has friends. Real, good friends, not like the kind that had so unfairly dumped him before on Alternia. You plave the bag of groceries on the counter top and, turning to the cabinet, you start putting up and organizing the spices. You absolutely loathe having them out of your special order, so you are the only one allowed to put them up.

"Nepeta," you hear Equius say from behind you in a quiet, controlled voice. "Uh.. Perhaps you should ask Mister Vantas before you-"

"Equihiss, he's purrfectly fine with it! I know 'cause last time you weren't here, I ran it by him and he told me it was a pawsityiffely wonderful idea! Right, Mr. Vantas?"

Glancing behind you, you can see Nepeta is already starting to take the fish out of the package to soak in the mix of salt water and seasoning. "Of course, Nepeta. In fact, it's rather helpful to me, since you are well informed on the correct way to place them in the water and it ends up saving me quite a bit of time. Thank you very much for doing more than you are required; I appr- uh, appurreciate it very much," you reply, adding the meowbeast pun because you're sure she'll love it.

Love it, she does. Squealing a little bit, Nepeta turns back to her moirail and puts her hands on his broad shoulders. "See?" she yells, her voice reaching near-deafening levels and shaking Equius's shoulders slightly. He's starting to sweat a little. Disgusting. "Mr. Vantas will make meowbeast puns fur me! Why won't youuuu?"

"'Cause meowbeast puns are lame," Karkat interjects from where he is slicing garlic. "Especially for, like, him. He's built like a fuckin' bull, it'd be ridiculous if he started making cutesy jokes about meowbeasts."

Nepeta giggles. "Awww, I bet he'd sound so silly! But not in a bad way," she hastily adds when Equius looks like he's about to interject. "In a way suiting you wonderfurry, duh."

"Where's Cronus?" you ask, finishing with your task and shutting the cabinet. It's a bit strange that he isn't down here; usually, by the time you get back with the groceries he's down here helping Karkat prepare the ingredients and meats.

There's no answer for a second, just the sound of chopping. Then Equius answers you. "I... I believe Mister Ampora is upstairs still."

"Hmm," you muse. "Well, I'll go up and tell him to get down here. I hope he's not expecting to just be able to shirk his responsibilities with no consequence..."

Nepeta's voice certainly carries far, and you can hear her yowling something about role-playing from all the way upstairs and through two doors. The living block is dark, the lights off and curtains drawn. From what you can tell, there's no lights on upstairs at all.

"Cronus?" you call into the empty darkness. "You need to come down here and help us with the food, we can't-"

"I'm in here," your matesprit's voice calls, from what you presume to be the respite block.  Walking in, you turn on the light to find him lying on the (still unmade) sleeping platform on his stomach, his face pressed into a pillow. He groans.

"Turn off the light, Kan. I have a major godsdamned headache, light aggravates it- owowowow-"

Flicking the lightswitch back off, you shoosh him and go to sit on the side of the platform beside him.

"Are you okay?" you inquire, keeping your voice soft and quiet.

"Hmmmm, yeah, just hurts a lot," he mumbles, and rolls over onto his side with the pillow still over his face. You lay down alongside him and wrap your arms around his middle so that your cheek is pressed to the upper part of his back. _Scandalous_ , you think dryly as you pap him softly. Your heart swells with an intense paleness towards him, and you think he's feeling the same way since he's purring softly under your touch.

_Scandalous!_

"Aww, babe," Cronus is saying, "it's so awful here, even compared to Alternia..."

"Sh, it's okay..."

"...we just get treated so fuckin' bad, makes me wanna bust some faces but there's nothin' I can do..."

"...shh, you're right, it's okay..."

"...the fuck is gonna happen to Kar when he has to go to school, how bad are they gonna treat him, makes me sick..."

"...don't cry, it'll all be okay..."

Cronus turns over to face you suddenly and hugs you tightly, sobbing into the crook of your shoulder. The tips of your claws are oval-shaped and dull, so there's no danger in the way your fingers are running through his hair and massaging the back of his head. You aren't entirely certain of your skill as a moirail, but you try your best.

Wait, no, no not moirail. This is not moiraillegance, not really. It's more like another category entirely separate from the four traditional troll quadrants; nor is it like the human "love". What you have with him... it's something else, red but whiter at the edges, with streaks of black and grey. A mess, really, but it doesn't feel that way when you realize his sobs are dying down and he's starting to calm down.

"Cronus," you whisper to him, gently rubbing circles into his back. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah." His voice is a little shaky.

"And you're okay if I go back downstairs?"

"Mhhm."

"Well then. I'll go down and get what both I and you need to do done. When you're feeling well enough to come down too, you should, but remember you should probably rest a little first. Crying can aggravate migraines and I don't want you to feel like you're obligated to drag yourself out of the respite block too soon."

"'Kay, babe. Thanks, kitten. For making me feel a little better."

You move so you can kiss his forehead. "It's been hard on everyone, Cronus. It's perfectly justified for you to feel angry or sad over the unfairness with which we have thus far been treated. But I promise it will be better for us someday. We'll still have a better life here than on Beforus, just remember that. Always."

When you go, you shut the door slowly and leave him laying alone in the dark.

* * *

As always, the restaurant is packed with customers by six o'clock, and you are doing your usual job as the waitperson. The cheery Alternian pop music (oh, humans can't tell the difference) playing over the speakers is one that you love dearly, and you hum it under your breath as you stand waiting for the next customer. Surprisingly, even with the place always bustling by a couple hours after opening, six (occasionally seven or eight) employees is more than enough to handle the restaurant. 

The door swings open, sweeping in with it a burst of chilly October air, and a couple enters, both smiling far too widely. You cringe inwardly, for you know one of the two all too well; she is a regular here, and also one of your least favorite. The taller one, the one you know with long auburn hair and transparent skin, is wearing what you assume is supposed to be a pair of horns, shaped like... sticks with little hearts on the top, you think? She's also got weird yellow contacts in and, you swear to the gods, dentures to make her teeth look sharper. Her friend, who's almost as short as you and has black-dyed hair, is dressed much the same, the only tangible difference being the star shape on top of her "horns".

"Welcome to Ampora Beforan Cuisine," you greet them warmly, successfully resisting the urge to comment on their... garb.

The redhead- Marceline, you think- somehow stretches her ridiculous smile even wider, which you think she's doing in an attempt to show off her denture things. "Hi, Kankri! I told you about Ariane last time, right?"

"Of course," you lie, leading them to their usual seats at the bar.

Completely oblivious to your untruthfulness, Marceline keeps talking. "Well, she's my moirail now! Isn't that so cool? I mean, we're not a hundred percent sure how exactly moirallegiance works, but I'm sure we'll figure it out."

As you have learned to expect from her, she's mangled the pronunciation completely. "Moy-reel", she's saying, when it should be "mwah-rayl". On top of it, she's saying it with a horribly offensive and fake Alternian accent, which is a thing you'd usually jump at as an opportunity to educate someone on.

However, since you depend on people like her to spread the word about your business, you just press your lips together into a thin smile and nod at her words.

"Yeah, Marcly and me have always been such best friends, and it was so weird! Like there's a word for that! So it was inevitable, really, it's so good to describe our friendship like that!" the smaller one- Ariane- informs you. Her voice is fast and sort of high, so it's hard for you to follow, but you manage.

And- oh, yeah. Marcly, fits six letters, makes about as much sense as you'd expect one with a (at best) rudimentary understanding of the troll language to come up with. That's the name Marceline told you to call her last time she was here.

You take their drink orders and say goodbye, leaving out the part you so desperately want to add explaining to them how different moirallegiance is from mere friendship, what it entails, how (due to the tendencies to pile-gather and release certain pheromones during times of pale attraction) only trolls could truly experience it, and that it is an important part of troll culture and is not to be appropriated!

Not knowing too much English, you prefer to just listen and nod your head as your part of most conversations, which has the unfortunate effect of making some humans- Marcly and Ariane included- mock you. You see it out of the corner of your eye as you leave their table to fill their drink orders. Kanaya, who is Porrim's relation of some kind, has taken over your place as waitperson, graciously allowing you to not have to rush.

Slipping into the kitchen, you grab two glasses and fill them both with hot tea, sighing.

"'S'wrong, babe?" Cronus asks in your native tongues from where he is behind the bar preparing fish.

Gratefully slipping easily back into the language you know best, you complain to him. "These humans are so aggravating! Now they're acting like they can participate in the quadrant system, and like 'best friends' are the equivalent of moirails. It's completely ridiculous. The way I’ve been treated today- and the _nerve_ of them, they were making _fun_ of me- I need a dri-" You cut yourself off suddenly, clamping your teeth down almost painfully hard.

It's silent between you for a second, and you busy yourself with adding granulated glucose cubes to the tea while the silence hangs heavy. Then Cronus speaks, in a quiet, too gentle voice.

"That was a joke, right?" he questions, turning his head to you slightly. "I mean, you ain't actually gonna-?"

"Of course not," you say shortly, putting the lid back on the glucose-holding receptacle. "You don't think I'd really..." You let yourself trail off, and again the horrible tension is there.

"'Course not."

You leave with the tea and pretend not to hear him sigh heavily as the door swings shut behind you.

* * *

That night, after the restaurant is closed and Kanaya and Nepeta and Equius have all returned to their hives, you lay in the sleeping platform and stare at the cracked, stained ceiling above you. Since by the time you were born, recuperacoons had become nearly obsolete, you have no particular inclination towards them; despite this, you're currently feeling a longing for one, as the sopor aids greatly in sleep. Recently, your nights (and days) have been restless, filled with brief flashes of nightmares and what you are hesitant to call visions, broken up by the occasional stabbings of pain in your back and legs. Maybe you're just getting old, you reason with yourself. Still, even that is not too much of a pleasant alternative to your other fantasies of strange illnesses or, worse, withdrawal, which you cannot possibly still be suffering from. The most comfort you have currently is from your matesprit and progeny, which is sort of unfair to you, you think, since Karkat sleeps in the other room and Cronus isn't even remotely warm. Even so, you lay curled up beside him, just your socked feet touching his bared ones under the blankets. The soft sound of his breaths lets you know he is fast asleep, his quick descent into sleep no doubt due to the strenuous day he had. Unfortunately, Cronus's current state of unconsciousness is not at all relevant to the horrible need to be touched that is starting to well up inside you. Slightly desperate for some other form of contact, you move so that your head rests on his chest and his arm is trapped beneath you.

This is a nice position, you decide sleepily, and snuggle closer into his shirt. Even though Cronus is cold and not very soft, the comfort of his body is enough to lull you into a state of relaxation, and soon enough you begin to feel yourself slipping into sleep.

"Babe, move, you're killing my arm," he mumbles, his voice thick with drowsiness, and you let out an unhappy trill when he pulls himself out from underneath you.

"I was comfortable," you hiss, the empty loneliness beginning to set back in. "I cannot believe that you didn't even think to ask for my opinions on the matter. Actually I- hey!"

He picks you up slightly and dumps you on your side so that he's spooning you, which is definitely not as comfortable at all. What does he even- oh.

Cronus's hands have climbed up under your sweater to grope your rumble spheres in a manner that is fond, almost casual and suddenly you understand his intentions. His breath in your ear and the back of your head is cool, gentle when he whispers to you that you've been working so hard lately, a little quicker after you whimper softly. You bet he hadn't even really been sleeping!

Those calloused, icy hands move slightly lower, pulling your leggings down from under your armpits to just past your wide hips. You wiggle a little so that they slip down to bunch up under your knees, and when you feel the coldness of his lips brushing the back of your neck you part your legs a little. Then his hands stroke up your thighs to grab and squeeze your butt through your underwear, and he hums in your ear. You can feel his writhing bulge through his boxers.

"How are you so godsdamn soft," Cronus hisses in your ear, more of a statement of awe than a question. The rough way he's touching your (admittedly rather large) backside is not very conducive to your efforts to keep quiet; you're trying your best, but every now and then a moan escapes you. Especially now that his bulge is out of his underwear, slick and wet and strangely firm against your skin, and he's grinding against you softly.

"Cronus-" you gasp, breathless and positively aching for him. "-ohh, s-stop t- MMH! Teasing, mmm-"

You can practically hear him break into a sharp-toothed, shit-eating grin now that he's got the go-ahead. Still, he takes his time sliding your underwear down what feels like a centimeter a minute, which has the side effect of making the palms of his hands also rub smoothly down your sides. Which you have very mixed feelings about, since it's making you wetter between your legs in anticipation but also turning your thoughts to a cloudy, muddled mess.

Finally, the panties are joining your leggings at the top of your shins, and Cronus's hands are free. You can't help yourself from letting out a shameful, hot noise when he starts rubbing and groping in between your thick thighs, rolling the flesh there in between his fingers. "So fuckin' soft, kitten," he mumbles against the shell of your ear, and his bulge is obviously very interested in the current situation, so why why why is he taking so long with this?!

Oh. Wait. He's probably waiting for you to beg for him; Cronus has a thing for it or something. Whatever, you don't really want to because it's so demeaning! It does send a little shock through you straight to the sticky mess of your nook, though, when the lips pressed against your ear move to form six very, very interesting words.

"Tell me what you want, babe."

_What a vague thing to say_ , you think in reproach. There are very many things you want. So many things to choose from, and none are really clear enough for you to voice! But...

Right now, you can think of one thing for certain.

Instead of telling him, your hands walk over his and pull them over to your crotch. He still doesn't really react, remaining motionless, until you whisper, blushing hotly, "Please."

It's sort of fuzzy after that, a blur of pleasure. One finger, the index of his left hand you think, draws little circles around the little folds of your sheath, where your bulge would likely be squirming if you had one. (Mutations affect weird, random parts of your body; that's your reasoning anyway.) Two fingers from his other hand go to rub at the opening of your nook, spreading the copious amount of fluid there in between the lips.

Squirming, again you realize he is just teasing! It's maddening; the soft touches only serve to increase your need for something else, and you desperately attempt to push your hips down onto his fingers. Cronus's arms are holding you in place, though, so your efforts are futile. He chuckles darkly in your ear, and you foggily wonder _how can he laugh at a time like this?_

"Gotta ask for it, kitten."

Swallowing every last shred of dignity you were hoping to retain during this particular... session, you cave.

"Hnn... please, Cronus, fuck meeee-"

"Whatever ya say, babe."

The noise you make when two of his fingers finally, finally, finally plunge into you would have been loud enough to wake the neighbors, much less Karkat, if Cronus hadn't covered your mouth with a hand. It's a bit embarrassing, the way you always end up letting yourself go when you pail him, but he finds it sexy (or something like it) so you don't care all that much. Especially when he is currently scissoring his fingers inside you while he fucks you with them, stretching you out nicely. You arch your back into him and try to remember how to breathe; his fingers are sliding in and out fast and striking against a sensitive spot inside you, making you sob with pleasure into the palm covering your mouth.

"This all right, babe?" Cronus murmurs, the calmness of his voice a cruel contrast to the turmoil inside your mind. You hum assent into his palm, and a third finger joins the others. Increasing the speed of his thrusts, he moves his hand from your lips to your rumble sphere, squeezing it roughly as he continues to slam into you. The ball of pleasure resting in your abdomen is quickly beginning to grow in size until it threatens to white out your world; sensing your impending climax, you push his hand away and murmur for him to stop.

With the sudden absence of his fingers inside you, you feel empty. The building feeling in the depths of your nook is starting to be replaced by desperate horniness again. Under the covers, you kick off your leggings to free your legs. When you turn to him, Cronus looks perplexed and slightly irritated at what he obviously takes to be your abrupt termination of the sex, but as you clamber on top of him and pull him onto his back his expression changes to one of anticipation.

"Is this okay?" you hiss, leaning over to press your foreheads together.

"Hell yeah. Put it inside yourself."

Keeping your faces together, you reach behind you to grasp his slick bulge, untangling it from his boxers. You pump it as best as you can with it behind you, and Cronus groans softly. You kiss him delicately once. Then, moving away from his face to hover over his bulge, looking down at him, you let him thrust into you to the hilt in one go.

"Fuck, Kankri."

The slow-burning stretch of being full of him is unimaginably wonderful, and you have to bite your hand hard to avoid making too loud a noise. Cronus's hands go to rest on your hips, and as you let yourself adjust to his girth you can feel the twitchy anticipation in his touch. After a moment, you start to move rather slowly, your support being your palms on his chest and his hands around your waist. The noises you let out are tiny, pitiful, sobbing, and under you Cronus is trying to thrust up in time with your movements. You try to ride him at a higher speed, but the wonderful feeling in your abdomen that's increasing every time his bulge rubs against that bloated spot inside you is making it hard to coordinate yourself.

"Babe, go a little faster maybe," Cronus pleads, his eyes full of lust and adoration, and you whine when you realize your legs are giving out way too much for that to be in the realm of possibility.

"Can't- Cronus, ohh I _caaan't_ \- mmmmh-" you tell him, desperately trying to continue riding his bulge but failing due to your exhaustion.

"Hold on, babe, just gotta-"

Before you can even understand what he's doing, you're on your back, your knees pressed up close to your face and your lower back in the air. It takes you a second, but you get that Cronus has bowled you over so he's on top pounding into you so fast and hard you think you are going to burst. The pleasure is too intense, the tip of his bulge continually striking that incredible spot inside you, and the ball of feeling in the depths of your nook is growing, spreading through your body, threatening to send you over the edge at any second, and you have completely forgotten about keeping quiet. Nothing matters to you right now except this.

"Harder," you plead, "please Cronus I'm so close I'm going to come _please_ faster _pleeeEEASE_ -"

Somehow he manages to slam into you even more powerfully, one hand holding your hips up and the other going down to press his index between your lips into your mouth. Absently, you suck on his finger, your mind lost in the throes of passion. Cronus's rhythm is starting to slip as he gets nearer, and you are so close, just a little more-

Your climax rips through you violently, your whole body trembling with the power of it, and it feels indescribable, like an electric stab through you. Cronus leans down to seal your mouth with his and capture the strangled cry you make. Your orgasm is still surging through you when he gasps your name and comes inside you, genetic material dripping out of your nook and probably staining your sheets. His bulge slides out of you and retracts into its sheath as he collapses on top of you, his weight strangely comfortable.

After a few minutes, he moves and pulls you up beside him so the two of you lay properly on the sleeping platform. You want nothing more than to just curl up and fall asleep in his arms, no matter how cliché it sounds. Unfortunately, your belly is still slightly distended and the pail under the bed lies unfilled; thoroughly sore and sticky, you really don't want to move to get it out. Before you can voice your discomfort to Cronus, however, he's already leaning under the bed to get it out to be filled.

"Want it up on the platform, kitten? Might be a little easier that way."

Sighing, you prop yourself up on your elbows and attempt to sit up. "That would be preferable, I suppose. I just never anticipate the amount of fluid that actually accompanies intimacy."

Cronus heaves the pail up onto the platform, and you let him pull you up over it, his grip on your sides supporting you. The cold metal sides are sharp against the thick flesh of your thighs.

"Maybe it just looks like more than usual when it's inside you? I mean, cause you're small- maybe there's like... less room so it just looks-"

"Can you just let me get this over with, Cronus? Your attempts at a conversation are in no way helpful to my need to relax before _... this_ can happen here."

There's a couple of seconds in which you strain to release the fluid before it begins to drip out of you, the flow strengthening after a few seconds. This, you think ruefully, is _actually_ considered quite scandalous, at least by human standards; nowadays they sell special devices and pills and such designed to trap or lessen the production of genetic fluid in trolls. You do not make use of any of these, of course, since you find them highly unnecessary. As the last of it drips out of you, your legs finally give out completely and you fall sideways onto the platform, managing to avoid knocking the bucket over. 

Vaguely, you can hear Cronus putting the pail on the wood floor and sliding it back under the side of the platform, likely to be dealt with at a later time. The springs squeak as he flops himself down beside you and pulls the sheets up. The way his arms snake around you to pull you close engenders strong red pangs in your bloodpusher, and you fall into slumber content.

 

**Author's Note:**

> It will get better. I hope. (Part from the summary will occur next chapter I suppose?)


End file.
